


Rite of Passage

by rsadelle



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-28
Updated: 2002-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsadelle/pseuds/rsadelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elijah's friends help him celebrate his twenty-first birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rite of Passage

**Author's Note:**

> I was horrified to find out just how young Elijah is. Then I noticed his twenty-first birthday is this week.

I open the door to find the other three-fourths of my soul grinning broadly at me, and Orli, of course.

It's Orli who lifts me up as easily as he might a child and nearly yells, "Happy birthday," in my ear. That leads to a flurry of kisses and birthday wishes. I save the last, and sweetest, kiss for Sean.

"What are you doing here?" I ask when we're done with the greetings and I've invited them in.

"It's your twenty-first birthday," Dom points out. "We know what that means here."

"We've come to take you out," Orli says, taking my arm.

"Let's go." Sean grins. "We'll buy you a pint."

I grin at them and obligingly quip, "It comes in pints?"

They laugh, and Billy claps one hand on my shoulder. "That's the spirit, mate."

Orli grabs a coat out of the hall closet and wraps it around my shoulders. "Where do you go to drink in this town?"

We end up at some bar with a varied clientele. It's sleazy enough for Orli's taste but nice enough that we won't get hassled. It's the kind of place people go for privacy.

When the waitress, a tired-looking but valiantly smiling woman, comes over to us, Orli orders, "Pints all around."

I roll my eyes. "Pitcher of Guinness," I tell her.

The waitress eyes me skeptically. "Can I see your ID?"

I grin up at her and pull it out with a flourish. She examines it carefully, then hands it back to me with a quick birthday greeting. She makes her way to the bar, talks to the bartender, and comes back balancing a tray with a pitcher and five glasses.

Orli evenly distributes the beer into our glasses. He won't let us drink until he's made a toast. "To Elijah," he says seriously.

"To Elijah," the others repeat, and I blush under their solemn regard. We finish the first pitcher quickly and wave the waitress over for a second.

Ian shows up after a while, and he quietly pulls a chair into the circle around our table.

Sean, the other one, shows up, too, and gives me a hug. "John wanted to come, but he couldn't get away," he announces.

Viggo is the last to arrive. He's beaming and paint-splattered, and Orli shoves Dom away to make room at his side.

We get progressively drunker as we trade stories about what we've been doing and who we've been seeing and what we've been drinking since we were all together last.

Orli eventually gets too restless to sit still and drags Viggo over to the old-school jukebox. He demands a dollar, which Viggo hands over with his usual sense of indulgence. Orli chooses one song, Viggo a second. After a moment of conferring, they choose a third together. They create their own dance floor in a small area free of tables.

"Should they be doing that?" Billy asks.

I shrug. "This is LA. No one cares."

We order another pitcher and watch Orli and Viggo dance. We're not surprised that Orli's song is fast with a driving beat. Nor are we surprised that Viggo's choice is slow and soft. We're only slightly surprised when Orli, who had been so eager for motion and excitement, calmly lays his head on Viggo's shoulder and stays within the swaying beat of the song.

Before their third choice starts to play, Ian comes around the table and holds one hand out to me. "Would you do me the honor of joining me on the dance floor?"

I blush and start to refuse, but a chorus of encouragement from around the table makes me take his hand and let him take me to join Viggo and Orli on their dance floor.

Their third song is another slow one, and I'm a little surprised by how good a dancer Ian is. I don't think of him on a dance floor. When I comment on it, he smiles at me gently and tells me that he is "of a different generation, when we were taught such things."

When the song ends, he steps back far enough to bow at me, then puts his arm around me and takes me back to the table. The alcohol and dancing and warmth of the bar are starting to make me dizzy.

Ian helps me into a chair and says, "I believe our young friend has had enough," when somebody starts to refill my glass.

"Nonsense," Billy says. "It's his twenty-first birthday. He's supposed to get drunk."

I give him a silly little grin and drink down half my beer in one go.

Sean, the old one, takes the glass from me when I start to set it down and moves it to the other side of the table. "Slow down."

I scowl at him. "You're not my father," I say, realizing even through my drunkenness how young and petulant I sound.

He only grins at me. "Thank God for that." He waves the waitress over and has her bring a glass of water. He makes me drink the whole thing before he gives my beer back.

Viggo comes back with Orli draped all along his side and half over his shoulder. They sit in chairs pulled so close together they might as well be sharing. It makes me jealous. It makes us all jealous.

I down the rest of my beer quickly and hold out my glass for Dom to refill. He only gives me half a glass, but I'm drunk enough that that's enough. I sip it slowly this time. I'm totally fucking monged. Monged. Great fucking word.

I drift on my drunkenness and let the rest of them talk. Orli's getting restless again. I can see it. For someone who made such an absolutely perfect Elf, he can't bear to be still for long. He's bouncing a little against Viggo. He's trying with his whispering, I'm sure, to convince Viggo to go do something more exciting. Viggo's hand moves across Orli's body, but he stays where he is and keeps Orli there too.

I finish my beer, and the room's starting to spin a little. My Sean's arm drops over my shoulders and his warmth starts to seep into me. He rubs one hand down my back, relaxing me. The alcohol's starting to make me sleepy, and I lean back against his shoulder. He wraps his arm tighter around me and presses his lips to my forehead. It's nice. Better than nice really, but I'm too drunk for anything other than a nice, slow warming of my blood and body.

His voice saying my name breaks through my fog. "'Lijah's falling asleep here."

Dom chuckles. "That means he's drunk enough."

"Or too drunk," the Sean I'm not sprawled against says.

It's Billy who stands. "Time for this party to break up," he announces. He looks like he's swaying, but I can't tell if that's because he's drunk or because I am.

Sean pulls me up, and only his arm wrapped around me keeps me from falling back down into my chair. "Come on," he says. "Let's get you home and into your bed."

"M'kay." I lean more of myself against him. "Gonna c'me with me?"

He chuckles, and it sends nice vibrations through my body. "Sure thing. Whatever you want."

The others are standing now too. Orli's fairly vibrating with excitement. Sean, not mine, herds us out the door and starts gathering up cabs. He puts Orli and Viggo into one with an admonition against public sex. He puts us in the second one. I lean against Sean and let him give the cab driver directions back to my apartment. His arms wrap around me and hold me safe on the drive back.

It's even harder to stand by the time we get there. Sean has to practically carry me out of the cab and up to my door. When he demands my keys, I manage, barely, to pull them out of my pocket without dropping them. He unlocks the door for us and locks it again behind us.

"Come on," he says as he drags me down the hall. He stands over me while I use the bathroom, and he makes me brush my teeth. He helps me strip to my boxers and pushes me into bed.

"Thought you w're gonna stay w' me," I say when he carefully tucks me in.

He bends over me and kisses my cheek. "I will." He leaves, and I drift in my drunken haze, fighting to stay awake until he comes back. He eventually does, with a bottle of water from the fridge and a bottle of aspirin from the bathroom.

"You'll need them in the morning," he explains as he puts them on my night table. It takes every last ounce of willpower I have, but I keep my eyes open to watch him undress to his briefs. He pulls the covers down just enough to slip in beside me.

He lets me curl up next him, and he even wraps his arms around me. "Happy twenty-first," he whispers.

"Mmm." I'm starting to fall asleep.

He chuckles, and again I can feel the vibrations reverberate through my own body. "Was it a good birthday?"

"Yeah," I mumble somewhere in the vicinity of his collarbone. "Th' b'st."

"Good." He kisses my hair. Maybe he kisses it again, but my eyes are closed and I'm asleep before I can be sure.


End file.
